


(Not Quite) Divine Interference

by C4t1l1n4



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Competent Jaskier | Dandelion, Fae & Fairies, Fae Magic, Flustered Jaskier, Geralt doesn't confess his love yet, Geralt thinks Jaskier is dead for a bit, Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Soft Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Worried Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, anytime Geralt even shows him a drop of affection he can't function properly, but he's getting there, but he's not, eventually, how is that not a tag??
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:07:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27404017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C4t1l1n4/pseuds/C4t1l1n4
Summary: A stray pair of wandering Fae decide that they've had enough of the way Geralt treats Jaskier, and need to teach him a lesson. The way they decided to do so, however, is rather unconventional.But, whoever said Fae weren't mischievous?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 14
Kudos: 461





	(Not Quite) Divine Interference

“The Witcher’s bard.” A voice chitters

“Poor bard.” Another commiserates. 

“Shines himself up so nicely.”

“Makes himself so pretty.”

“And the Witcher ignores him.” The first continues, gaze drifting over to where Geralt and Jaskier set up camp. 

“Such a nice voice.” The second agrees from where they hide, unable to be seen or heard. 

“The Witcher does not appreciate it so.” 

“But we do! He could play for us.” The figure twirls in the air slightly, excited. 

The first does not agree. “He would not be happy.” 

The second frowns. A moment of silence passes as they think. Fae are wild and mischievous creatures after all. “We could help.” They suggest, excitement creeping back up into their voice. 

The first one considers. “Yes,” they turn their gaze back to where the fire blazes. “We should help.”

——  
They bide their time carefully, of course. Waiting is no big deal for Fae, so they wait. They wait until Jaskier and Geralt have gone their separate ways, Jaskier staying in town for a little while longer to perform at a festival while Geralt continues on for a contract a few towns over. They planned to meet back up in a few weeks' time. 

Now is the perfect time to help. 

They are polite enough to let the bard finish his festival and collect his coin before confronting him. Fae are nothing but respectful, after all.

“You are Jaskier!” One of them crows, delighted as the corner him just outside the tavern. 

He isn’t quite drunk, perhaps just a little tipsy, or maybe even just high off of the performance, but the Fae are eager. “Yes, I am.” The bard replied, squinting at them in the dark. “And you are…” He trails off, blinking a few times before his eyes widened. “Fae.” He swallows nervously. 

“Fae.” The other chirps excitedly, not put off by the bard’s nervous reaction. “Yes, yes. We are here to help you.”

Jaskier raises an eyebrow, eyeing them skeptically. “Pardon my hesitance,” he says, gaze flickering back and forth between them, voice steady. “But your reputation proceeds you.” 

“We are here to help.” The Fae insists. 

“You and the Witcher.” The other says as if it explains everything. 

“Geralt?” Jaskier asks, still confused.

“Yes, you and the Witcher.”

“The love that will blossom between you.” The Fae exclaims, hands pressed over their heat. 

Jaskier splutters out a laugh, face burning red. “Ah, I think you might be confused. Geralt barely tolerates me.”

“No!” The Fae insists. “He is just a bit…” They trail off, looking for a word. 

“Dumb.” The other helpfully provides. 

“Hey!” Jaskier squeaks offended on Geralt’s behalf.

“We mean no disrespect.” The Fae amends quickly. “He is just not used to having nice things.”

“Or keeping nice things.” 

“Or letting nice things follow him around.” 

They stare at him imploringly. He just blinks back at them, not quite getting it. 

“You are nice things.” They state bluntly. 

The red flush in his cheeks wells back up. 

“Pretty, and soft!” They start, pulling at his hair slightly. 

“And colorful.” The other joins in, tugging on the fabric of his doublet. 

“And the music!” They turn to look at each other excitedly, chittering wordlessly. 

“Such good music.” They turn back to Jaskier. 

“You are a nice thing to have.” 

“Yes, and we will get the Witcher to understand this.”

“Hmm, yes.” Jaskier chuckles nervously. “How exactly are uh, we going to do that?” 

“It is very simple.” One fae explains. 

The other nods. “You just have to _sleep_.” They intone, and Jaskier collapses to the ground. 

“Maybe the Witcher will appreciate what he had when it is gone.”

——  
Geralt comes back to town two weeks later. 

Jaskier was supposed to meet him a few days ago but hadn’t shown up, so he’s heading back to where he left him, the town with the party. He asks around, but no one had seen him after the last night of the festival. He had gotten his coin and vanished, so it had seemed. No one saw him leave town, or even talked to him the next morning, and everyone had just assumed he had left. 

Geralt frowned, pausing outside to think. Something about his didn’t seem right. 

“Oh, Witcher!” A voice calls. 

Geralt whirls around, tense, and ready to reach for a weapon when he is confronted with two little Fae, flying in the air in front of him. Their voices like little bells, laugh at him. He forces himself to relax. Fae are to be outwitted, not to be fought. 

“Hello.” He says as politely as he can. 

They just laugh in return.

“Are you looking for your bard?” One of them giggles. 

He tries not to let the alarm show in his face. If Jaskier got involved with Fae, there could be serious consequences. “I am. Do you know where he is?”

“Do we know, he asks.” The second one says, mischief lining their voice. 

“Do we know?” The first parrots. 

“We do know that he plays well.” 

“Yes, yes. He plays very pretty.”

They turn to face each other, and Geralt tries to ignore the rising panic in his chest. 

“He would play very pretty for us.” 

Geralt swallows the immediate exclamation of protest the wells up in his throat. “I’m sure that he would be honored to play for you.” 

They look over at Geralt. 

“Honored.” One repeats. 

The other looks him right in the eyes. “Are you honored that he plays for you?”

It’s a loaded question, Geralt can tell. He must be careful how he replies. “Of course I am honored.”

The other Fae turns toward him with interest. “So you do not mind him following you around?” 

Geralt is tempted to spit the same old lies that he normally does, but he doesn’t. He wouldn’t want to disrespect the Fae by lying to them. “No,” He admits quietly. “I do not mind. I rather enjoy his company.” 

The Fae look delighted at his admission. 

“He does not think the same.” One says.

“It is best.” Geralt explains, dropping his gaze. “He will leave.” 

“So you would care for him?” They ask, drawing Geralt’s gaze back up to where they fly. 

“If he left.”

“If he were hurt.”

“Or sick.” 

“Or trapped.”

“Or dead.” 

“Is he?” Geralt asks, eyes flying wide open in alarm. 

The Fae shrugs. “He isn’t in our realm.” 

The other nods in agreement. “He does not play for us. Will not. Cannot. Won’t ever. We don’t know.” 

“But perhaps you only acknowledge what you had because it is gone.” 

Geralt swallows uneasily. He thinks tears would be welling upon his eyes if they could. “What do you mean? Where is he?” He tries not to let the desperation bleed through in his tone. Based on the Faes’ reaction, he doesn't do a very good job. 

They stare down at him disapprovingly. “With a tone like that, perhaps we shall not help you.” 

The other Fae hums in agreement. “We do not like those who are disrespectful.” 

“If you are this rude to us, how much ruder are you to your bard?” 

“Yes, yes. Perhaps he would fare better without you.” 

“No.” Geralt takes a moment to get a hold of his emotions and takes a deep breath. “Please.” He says as seriously and politely as he can. 

The Fae both look at him and seem to reconsider. 

“Well then. Follow us.” 

The Fae lead him to an old wooden barn, one of the large doors cracked open. Geralt barely fits through. The sight that awaits him makes his blood run cold. 

The barn is stacked to the ceiling with bales of hay, though the supply only fills the back half of the building. It is obvious that the town will be using this for their cattle over the winter. The ground that isn’t filled with bales of hay is still littered with stray bits of it, enough to provide a cushy surface to walk on. Not 5 paces from the door is Jaskier’s lute. Geralt picks it up reverently, brushing any stray dirt off it, plucking a stray piece of hay from between its strings. It’s covered in a thin layer of dust. It hasn’t been used in weeks. And by the looks of it, it hasn’t been cleaned in even longer. Jaskier would never allow his beloved instrument to fall into such disrepair. 

“Witcher!” The Fae call, garnering his attention away from the instrument in his hands, and back towards the scene in front of him. 

His heart drops. 

There, lying in midst of various clumps of hay, is Jaskier. Still, and unmoving. If Geralt tries hard enough, he can just convince himself that Jaskier was sleeping. But somewhere deep down inside, he dreads that’s not the case. 

He carefully lays the lute somewhere it won’t get stepped on and hurries to Jaskier’s side. He checks for his heartbeat and is relieved to find one, just very slow. So slow, even he almost missed it. 

“Do you know what happened to him?” He asks, turning towards the Fae once more for help.

“You did!” One of them cries cheerfully. 

“Or, rather, we did, on your behalf.” The other corrects. 

“What do you mean?” 

“What’s the point of pretty bard if no one appreciates him?” The Fae shrugs as if it were that simple. 

“I appreciate him.” 

The Fae seem unconvinced. “Maybe.” 

“But you don’t do a very good job of showing it.” 

“I can’t afford to get attached.”

The sound of bells rings out through the air, and Geralt doesn’t even have to look at them to know they’re laughing. 

“You’ve done a pretty poor job at that already, though, haven’t you?” The Fae settle onto a clump of hay near Jaskier’s head. 

“He’s going to leave.” Geralt says sadly. 

“Humans.” One of the Fae agrees. 

“So small, so fragile.” 

“Lives so short.” 

Silence hangs in the air. 

One of the Fae's wings flutters, considering. “We could fix that!” 

They chitter to the other Fae, before turning back to the Witcher. 

“Yes, yes. Let us fix that.” They fly over and press their tiny hand to his forehead. Their hand glows for a moment, and they back away. 

“See, see!” They crow. “As long as he plays music he will be young.”

“He must play for us though.”

“Yes, yes. Play for us first.” 

“You said he would be honored to play for us.”

“Honored!” The other repeats.

Geralt nods his assent. “I’m sure he would be.” 

“But now, your end of the deal.” 

“My end?” 

“Yes, yes!” Fae exclaims. “This whole dilemma is your fault.” They accuse. 

Geralt doesn’t quite understand that leap in logic but doesn’t protest. “Okay then. What is my end of the deal?”

“You have to show your appreciation for your pretty bard.” 

“You said that you couldn’t because he was going to leave.” 

“And now he is not. So you must keep your word.” 

Geralt hums in response. 

“You must promise, Witcher.” The Fae’s tone is no longer light and playful, but dark and threatening. 

“Unless you were lying.” The second one adds with false nonchalance, something menacing lying underneath.

“Do you dare disrespect us, Witcher?”

“Because if you were lying, we can always take back our gift.”

“Yes, yes. Pretty bard can stay with us.” 

“Or maybe just… sleep forever.” 

“I promise.” Geralt interrupts, tugging Jaskier’s limp form closer. 

“You promise what?” 

“I promise to show my love and appreciation for Jaskier.” 

“Yes, yes. For the pretty bard.”

“We’ll hold you to that, Witcher.” The Fae warns. 

“Our blessing will only work for as long as you do so.” 

“Our blessing is only for aging, Witcher, he is not immune to other harm.” 

“Keep him safe.”

“I will.” He says, pauses, and then amends his statement. “I will do my best.” 

The Fae seem satisfied. 

Jaskier stirs in his arms. Geralt relaxes his hold, allowing him to sit up. Jaskier clutches at his head with one hand as he takes in his surroundings. 

“Oh, Geralt.” He says, surprised. “Hello.” 

“How are you feeling?” 

“Like I’ve been kicked in the head by a horse and haven’t eaten for three weeks. What happened?” 

“Pretty bard!” One of the Fae exclaims, hovering nearby. 

“Ah, right. Hello again.” He grimaces as he turns his head, and Geralt’s hands shoot out to steady him.

“Did you forget to take care of my bard this entire time?” Geralt asks, half amused and half concerned. 

Jaskier flushes a bit at the phrasing. “Ah, how long exactly has it been since the festival?” 

“About 3 weeks now. You were supposed to meet me a few days ago.”

“Right,” he drops his gaze. “Sorry about that.” 

Geralt opens his mouth to reassure Jaskier when the Fae cut him off. 

“We are sorry, pretty bard.” 

“Time is so different for us.” 

“Humans are so tricky.” 

“We meant no harm.” 

Jaskier gives them a small smile. “It’s alright. You meant well.” 

They nod in agreement. 

“Here, we’ll help!” 

They flutter over and land in his hair, glowing a bit as they do. When they fly off against, Jaskier looks refreshed, his head doesn’t hurt, and the stabbing pain in his gut is gone. 

“Thank you very much. That was very nice of you.” 

“Of course, pretty bard.”

“Now you will play for us.”

“You will play for us, won’t you?”

“I’d be honored to play for such an attentive audience.”

“Honored!” The Fae crowed, delighted. 

“He said he would be honored.” The Fae chitter excitedly between themselves as Geralt retrieves the lute. Jaskier shoots the Witcher a questioning look as the instrument is deposited in his lap. Geralt just smiles. 

“I’ll fill you in later.” 

“With all the details?” Jaskier implores. 

Geralt huffs out a laugh. “Yes, with all the details.” 

Jaskier hums and strikes a chord on his lute, grabbing the attention of the Faes. He starts to play something but gets cut off as he’s drug backward into Geralt’s lap, settled between the Witcher’s legs. 

“Uhh, Geralt?” Jaskier croaks, face strawberry pink. The Witcher just chuckles from over his shoulder, right next to his ear. 

“Wouldn’t want you to pass out while you play. After all that rush of healing magic, better make sure it’s doing its job, and that you don’t strain yourself too much.”

“Yes, yes.” The Fae agree. 

“It would be a shame if something were to happen after all this effort was put into your wellbeing.” 

Jaskier couldn’t help but think that he was missing something, that there was an unspoken message that he didn’t quite get, but he didn’t worry about it. Geralt promised to fill him later after all. 

“Well then,” Jaskier says, shifting to be more comfortable and relaxing into Geralt’s hold. “Any requests?”

**Author's Note:**

> I know that the Fae treat Jaskier like an object and call him a 'thing' a lot. I’m not saying that Jaskier is an object or a thing or that Geralt views him that way, I’m just saying that Fae don’t quite get human ways of doing things.


End file.
